


The Colour of Being Gone

by faith_girl222 (faithgirl)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, PTSD, Post-Series, Unhappy/unresolved ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-03
Updated: 2004-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithgirl/pseuds/faith_girl222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour of Being Gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fickledame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickledame/gifts).



> Set post-series for both shows. Originally posted October 3, 2004. 
> 
> Beta by nariya.

She didn't see the gang much, because Buffy was the only one left in Rome. Dawn had gone off to France for university, the others were away in various demon-y locales, and Giles was dealing with the SiTs. It was nice, in a way. Clean slate and all that. She had a job at a Cafe, and there were university pamphlets on her coffee table. Things were simple, sometimes there were demons, but mostly she was getting a reprieve. She flirted with her cute coworkers, made herself dinner every night. It was fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.

And then Tuesday rolled around. Buffy always approached them warily. The hellmouth this might not be, but Tuesdays were bad news, and shouldn't be allowed to sneak up on anyone.

She had a four-hour shift, starting at 10 AM. Everything *seemed* perfectly normal, until Charles Gunn walked in. Buffy knew, somewhere in the back of her head, that weird shit had gone down in L.A. And that he had worked for Angel. But that wasn't why it seemed so strange that she nearly spilled a latte all over her customer. No, it was because she'd spent nearly three months watching him do her slaying, when she couldn't do it, when all she wanted to be alone with a tea cozy. 

Gunn stared up at the menu. He hadn't noticed Buffy yet, and she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to or not. He wandered forward as the queue moved, eyes still on the chalkboard. Buffy chewed on her lip, fiddling with the cash register, waiting for it. Gunn's eyes moved down to her. They widened, but there wasn't the big gasp Buffy had expected.

"Hi. What can I get you today?" Big customer-service style smile.

He started, made a few vowel sounds, then started again. "Um, iced mocha with foam. I think. Are they good? I haven't had coffee in a while."

"Very yummy. Party in your mouth."

"I'll have that one."

"Right." She punched it in. Took his Euros.

"So, I heard you were out here."

"Yeah. It's different- it's good. How's . . . L.A.?"

"It's back to normal. Teflon City, I swear to god."

Buffy laughed. It sounded hollow to her ears. She waved her arms oddly, then went to make the mocha. "Here." He took it, and his fingers brushed against her. Their eyes met, and a feeling of panic spiraled up inside her.

"Thanks .... You wanna get something to eat, later?"

Buffy blinked. He was just as direct as ever. Somehow she'd expected Angel would have rubbed off on him. She rubbed her palms down her jeans. It would be fine. She was fine. Everything was fine now.

"Yea-yeah. That sounds great. Two thirty-ish?" She rearranged her features into a non-Customer Service style smile.

* * *

They walked along the street, towards a McDonald's, because Rome was swarming with them, and they were cheap and quick, and there was no chance of ordering something you didn't know what it was, or having awkward expectations failed to be met. McDonald's was a no expectations zone.

"My favorite place so far is Il Gelato di San Crispino. They have the most amazing ice cream, and are closed on Tuesdays. They're a paragon all other institutions should aspire to," Buffy rambled nervously.

"All places should serve amazing ice cream?"

"No, all places should be closed on Tuesdays. Everyone should lock themselves in their houses, and hide under their beds on Tuesday. Bad world-ending things always happen on Tuesdays." She frowned. "And usually in May, as well."

"Can't say as I've experienced weird May-only apocalypses. We had a big one in November. Fire falling from the sky. It was bad."

And there was that weird look again, and the gripping panic in her gut.

"Maybe it's a Sunnydale thing."

Gunn held open the door for her, and they walked into the barrier of noise that always seemed to fill McDonald's.

"You know, when you asked me to get something to eat, I thought you meant a restaurant." Buffy smiled at him, taking the bite out of. She hoped.

"Well, I didn't want to be, uh, too pushy. McDonald's seems fairly low-key."

"Except for the part where it's louder than a Rolling Stones concert, totally. Lowest key ever."

Gunn smiled at her again, and it was this odd empty smile, that made Buffy's stomach clench. She looked away, eyes following hyper kids, and their parents trailing after them.

* * *

They hung around the McDonald's longer than they really should have, making the fries last until they were so cold and gross they had to play rock, paper, scissors to decide who would go throw them out.

The fall sunlight was draining out of the sky as they came outside. Visions of clubs were swimming in Buffy's head as they walked east toward the river. Somehow, without any conscious thought to do so, these words escaped her mouth.

Gunn was up for dancing in a different country, even if there were a great many more exotic things that they could do. He hailed a cab, and the driver, used to weird Americans, drove them to the trashiest club he could find.

Gunn paid the fair, and the cover, and bought the first round of drinks. Buffy was beginning to feel a bit badly, but the alcohol kicked in, and thoughts stopped occupying her attention. She lost herself in the rhythm, the beat and the pounding of music through her.

Gunn could dance, almost as well as Faith. He matched her move for move, let the music thread around them, inform his steps. The lights were spinning, and Buffy caught flashes of him in the darkness. His skin was shiny with sweat. His breath was hitching, and Buffy closed the gap between them, pressing her lips against his. She didn't care whether doing this with one of your ex's best friends was in bad taste, she just did it, no thoughts.

Moments later, they stumbled into the street. Gunn hailed another cab as his left hand tugged on Buffy's hair. She mewled, biting his lip. 

When they arrived at her flat, at the end of Via Sistina, Buffy couldn't remember the cab ride, or who had paid. All she could think of was the slide of Gunn's fingers against her belly, following the hem of her shirt, little butterfly wing sweeps that made her shiver.

Inside the building Buffy wrapped her legs around him, digging her shoes into his back, trying to get closer, closer, soclose, not yet close enough. The stairs were long and winding, and he nearly dropped her. At the door, Buffy was so impatient she broke down her own door, and dragged him inside by his shirt.

She led him into the bedroom before he could comment on the windows that opened onto the veranda, or the paintings, or the sprawling lounge. Buffy ripped the shirt away, leaving tiny half moon holes in the fabric. Gunn pushed her back against the bureau, spilling papers and books across the floor. Buffy pressed him back, and turned around, drawing the cover down over the desk.

She bowed back against it, reaching for him with her legs. Buffy reeled him in, fingers dancing over his belt and fly. He sprung free, and she pulled him in, pressing against his ribs with her knees. Gunn's tongue snaked across her neck. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

Closerclosercloser he needed to be _closer_.

His fingers were against her stomach again. She arched into his touch. 

Gunn thrust, his head parting the way inside, and a scream ripped out of her, shook the walls, and probably guaranteed a complaint from her neighbors in the morning. Buffy tightened her legs.

Moremoremoremoremoremoremore, the words spilled out of her, ran through her mind, and she didn't know anything anymore, just the feel of his skin, the blow of air across her nipples, the ripple inside her as she expanded and contracted.

Buffy kissed him, made the kiss deep. She stepped back, toward the bed. The streetlights outside lit up the sheets in long stripes. Buffy crawled across it on her knees, staring at him over her shoulder, eyes half closed.

Gunn's cock seemed to get harder as he watched her. His feet moved for him, following her across the room. Her fingers wrapped around the bars of the headboard as he climbed onto the bed behind her. He slid slowly, so slowly, inside, his hand matching the pace as it trailed up her lower back. 

Buffy moved back, stretching herself out. Knees by his legs, she stopped supporting herself with her legs, let her arms hold her up. Her muscles stretched, and he moved in and out, and it felt _so_...

Wetness seeped down her thighs, and Gunn bent over her, his fingers climbing up her thighs, brushing against her clit. They smoothed against her belly, and cupped her breasts. His long fingers tweaking and pinching in tandem with his thrusts.

Buffy cried out. She wanted to encourage, to tell him how good it was, but she could barely think. Strings of nonsense and she was coming, coming so hard. Her walls squeezed, and he yelled, pressing his lips to hers, letting her swallow his sounds.

She came apart, and felt the warmth in her belly. The world spun, and her arms shook with it. She pressed closer, the suspension over the bed making her panic. She twisted, her arms gripping him, pulling him against her. Pressed her face into his shoulder, clutched at him with her legs.

When she relaxed, she was under him, clinging like she thought he was going to leave. Buffy tried to even her breathing, her chest shuddering with the deepness of her breaths. Gunn stared down at her, confused by her reaction. He was shaking too.

His hand came up to her cheek, thumb moving over her lips. She swallowed, looking down. There was enough room between them now that she could see where Gunn was pressed inside her. Buffy looked back up, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. It brushed against his fingers, and she found herself kissing them. Eyes steady with his, she took them inside her mouth, sucking and kissing.

Gunn's eyes tracked her movements, and he shuddered with pleasure. When she stopped, he kissed her, and turned over onto his back, tucking her against him, her head in the hollow of his collarbone.

Buffy was still shaking; thoughts and senses coalescing in her head as orgasm faded and the softness of inebriation ebbed.

Gunn's breathing steadied and she could tell he'd fallen asleep. She lay beside him, the cold light of the city sharp against her. The room was dark, and bed was a blinding white. Regret twisted in her stomach, and it wasn't because he was Angel's friend. It was because she didn't tell him that she wasn't ready for - anything. Her insides shuddered, and she curled into herself.

Her knees came toward her chest, and she pulled back from him. Tears were slipping down her cheeks, and the feeling was welling up inside her, like blood from a bone-deep wound. Buffy wrenched the sheets back, dropping to the floor. She crawled to the door of the study, locked herself inside.

Back against the wooden door, she stared out the window. The changing light of passing cars barely lit the room. In the darkness she cried. Huge wracking sobs that felt like vomiting, like they were ripping her apart.

Buffy didn't sleep, couldn't even make herself stop crying. She could pretend she was fine, she could pretend to herself, she could pretend on the phone when Giles called her every Sunday. But it was never real. She wanted to erase it, the bright whiteness of being Gone, that was like the opposite of being blind.

The rug scratched against her naked back. Buffy lay there until the sun bled into the room. She went and cleaned herself up in the bathroom, climbed back into bed. It was fine, she was fine, everything was fine.


End file.
